


In Which Cabal and Leonie are (begrudgingly, temporarily) Married

by qualapec



Category: Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard
Genre: Angst and Humor, Dark Comedy, Gen, Other, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qualapec/pseuds/qualapec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cabal is most unsatisfied with his life when it is in danger of coming to an abrupt end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Cabal and Leonie are (begrudgingly, temporarily) Married

Cabal was generally far from content with his life. He was neutral, at best, and moments of glee were few and far between, usually found with tea and a newly acquired manuscript (most recently, “Most Merciful Alchemical Recipe for Revival of the Dead,” transcribed by a Ming scholar six centuries ago), or the rare moment of success in an experiment. These were things that brought him true glee.

He was most unhappy with his lifestyle choice when it was in danger of coming to an immediate halt.

He’d found his way to a small town in northern France, where the people there had somehow missed the memo that the revolution was over. Three-hundred years on, and they were still happy to use the guillotine in the town square as a deterrent for any crime the magistrate saw fit. Cabal had noted the blood stains upon arrival, deduced that it was not just there for decoration, and decided to make his stay short.

But there were heads to be collected, and he might have gotten cocky.

Now, he was standing with two meat-headed executioner’s assistants, both of them farm fed, and watching the town butcher test the blade on a melon. Light flashed on the blade as it slid downwards and sloshed wetly through the fruit, spraying pink juice everywhere.

Cabal visibly flinched at the sound of the blade hitting organic matter. It was a wet sort of sound, imminent and distracting. He took a deep breath to focus his mind and find a way out. The best plan he could devise was digging in his heels when the assistants started dragging him towards the grinning mechanism to the jeers of the crowd.

When he stood on the platform, reluctantly pulling himself to his full height, the magistrate stood next to the executioner, and the sheriff raised a hand to silence the crowd. They reluctantly settled down in the hopes they would be able to hear the condemned’s sobs as he begged for mercy. Cabal aimed to disappoint them.

“Johannes Cabal, you have been sentenced to death for crimes against God, nature, and humanity. Do you have any last words?”

“Before I’m decapitated, you mean?” Cabal said, in French.

“Yes, before that.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t. I’m in the middle of important biomedical research and I rather need my head for it.”

The sheriff laughed heartily and slapped him on the shoulder. “I love it when they go out with a smile,” and this urged a collective, arrogant laugh from the crowd.  They moved him towards the guillotine.

 _“Now wait just one minute!”_

A lone, feminine voice called out from the crowd in English. As Cabal was searching for a speaker, the sheriff was groaning and rubbing his temple. He knew that voice…he could have sworn he’d heard that voice before. He also believed he recognized the look of aggravation on the sheriff’s face.

A tall, blonde woman was shoving her way through the crowd. Cabal’s glanced hitched on her face, the soft curl of her hair, as it always did before he realized the truth. She distracted him, for a moment, from his death not a few feet away. Leonie Barrow stomped up towards the guards on the steps. She looked back at the crowd, probably searching for the cowardly little translator she’d had with her, who was now high-tailing it out of the square. She rounded on the sheriff. “This man is a British citizen.”

The sheriff, in strained English, replied, “He is subject to the laws of our country and our province while he is here.”

“I would like to inform you that you are required to contact the British embassy in Paris to inform them of this. The trial was last night. Surely you haven’t had enough time to notify them or receive a response?”

“We’ll notify them afterwards.”

Leonie was rapidly becoming flustered. “These laws are in place to allow for a dialog and communications in situations that would otherwise be tragic misunderstandings. They’re meant to help safeguard innocent lives and postpone barbarisms like this.”

“Exactly,” the sheriff replied, as one would speak to a child, “that is why we wait until afterwards.”

The crowd laughed at the tone in his voice, picking up on the joke.

“In France,” Leonie continued frostily, “Witchcraft was removed as an offense punishable by death in ’72.”

It was the magistrate’s turn to speak, in French. Leonie blinked at him in confusion.

Cabal sighed, and translated, “He says that the provinces are still permitted to act in defense of their people when the safety of individuals or property is at risk.”

“Given that he was caught grave-robbing, he fits into both categories.”

Leonie took a break from her righteous anger to give Cabal an angry glance.

Cabal scowled. “If anything, I should be punished for grave robbing and nothing else. I was not actually using any magic here --- everything I was caught doing was pure science, measurements and cleansing the extra-cellular matrix of the brains. It’s not my fault these bumpkins don’t know the difference.”

Leonie sighed, and looked as though she was second-guessing saving him.

“The law stands,” the sheriff snapped his fingers, and Cabal was moved closer to the guillotine. Leonie’s eyes widened as she realized with a painful clarity that she did not want to watch him die.

The magistrate watched her, smiled, and leaned over to whisper something to the sheriff, who smiled in turn. It was like watching two men share a joke. That made both Cabal and Leonie deeply uncomfortable.

“There is a law,” the sheriff announced, rolling on his boots, “it dates back quite a ways. Can’t remember the last time it was used. In the case of all crimes except, presumably, murder, an unmarried man condemned to die may be taken into the good care of an unmarried woman, through holy matrimony.”

Cabal and Leonie stared at the two men for a very, very long time.

“I…” Leonie croaked, “beg your pardon.”

“The only way you can save his life is to marry him, here and now.” He waved a hand out to the crowd. “Before all these witnesses.”

There was a beat before Cabal politely stepped away from the stunned assistants, and calmly placed his head on the block.

Leonie balked. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Dying. Thank you.”

“What?”

“If marrying you is my only option, I’d sooner lose my head.”

Leonie’s face shifted from shock to anger. “What did you just say? You would rather die than marry me. You?”

The sheriff chuckled. “It’s tradition here for the new couple to be seen naked in bed together!”

Leonie paled, and Cabal placed his head down again, staring wistfully into a wicker basket. Her indignant gasp redirected to him. She couldn’t help being insulted; here she was trying to save him and he was acting like she had cooties. It was deeply infantile. “Well fine then, if marrying me is so horrible then you can damn well marry me.”

“Pardon?” Cabal asked.

“That’s right. I’ll do it. I’ll marry Johannes Cabal, necromancer and professional bastard.” She sounded proud of herself as she said it, feeling as though she’d beat him at his own game.

Cabal was pulled back from the guillotine by the same two assistants that brought him there. He could, perhaps, have said no if he’d really wanted to. But he did rather like his head the way it was, and if all he had to tolerate were three days of Ms. Barrow’s nonsense, he would do so. It was more practical than an eternity in hellfire, if equally appealing.

They were married quickly in the town cathedral, vows were improvised, and the ‘I do’s’ were spat out like insults. When he was told to kiss the bride, both he and the bride in question bent towards each other awkwardly. She scented the formaldehyde on him, and he saw her tight-lipped scowl as he approached. As it was, their lips barely graced, every effort made to make as little contact as possible. Afterwards, they were carried by the crowd to the honeymoon suite at the local hotel, and viewed in bed by no less than ten witnesses, including the sheriff and magistrate (it turns out that the bit about being naked had been a gross exaggeration). The entire time, Cabal’s scowl only deepened.

They were left to consummate.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” Leonie suddenly inquired in the silence.

“I wasn’t going to, but now that you mention it, I suppose I should.” In emphasis, his mouth snapped shut.

“I really should have let them cut that smug head of yours off. Surely you’ll be crushed by the weight of your ego anyway.”

“Why didn’t you?” Cabal asked, actually curious. “This is our third meeting, I believe. You know enough about me to know you dislike me, why put yourself in harm’s way to save me? I understand that you disapprove of the death penalty, but I would have thought you beyond actively trying to help me.”

“You don’t need a motive to do kind things.”

His only response was to stare at her, not fully understanding the words that had just come out of her mouth.

Writing that one off as a lost cause, Leonie frowned and flopped back against the pillow. “You know, this really is not how I imagined my wedding night.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“You don’t deserve to die like that,” she murmured, quietly. “You’re…incredible. And it was just so mundane. You deserve better than that. Or worse. I’m still not sure. I just knew I couldn’t sit by and watch you die when there was something I could do about it.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Cabal grated again, looking away from her to avoid eye contact. “But it was very helpful that you did.”

Leonie sighed, admitting that she would have to be content with ‘helpful’. “All right. We’ll leave this little dump in the morning. Now make some noise, you’re supposed to be ravaging me.”

“I’ll do no such thing. We’ve both had a busy day and should probably sleep, then work this mess out once we get back to London.” Meaning, they would forget their non-binding marriage as soon as they returned to Britain, and he would vanish before she could make a fuss and get him arrested.

“Oh, like how I get half your stuff?”

He blanched, and she could practically see him fantasizing about stabbing her behind his eyes. “Oh hush, I’m just teasing.” She scowled. “After the way you acted about marrying me earlier, you deserve a little ribbing.”

At that, he smirked.

“What?” He looked too smug, and she didn’t like that. “What’s so funny?”

He seemed very proud of himself. “I beat you at your own game.”

It took her a moment, and her shoulders drooped. “You knew I’d react to you being childish, which would make me even more willing to help you.”

“Did you really think I’d put my head in a guillotine for anything other than the strictly practical?”

“…Most women would have left you up there.”

“If you had, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. It was a win-win.” He turned over to sleep, at her growling, he felt a rare burst of satisfaction and joy. He decided that aggravating Leonie had somehow found its way onto his list of favorite things.


End file.
